


Not for Glory, Nor Riches, Nor Honours but For Freedom

by ClanDonnachaidh



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClanDonnachaidh/pseuds/ClanDonnachaidh
Summary: Claire Beauchamp meets Jamie Fraser during a walk around the National Museum of Scotland.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110





	Not for Glory, Nor Riches, Nor Honours but For Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Today, the 6th of April 2020 marks the 700th birthday of the Declaration of Arbroath! I couldn't let it go unmarked so I've sat in bed and this bit of pointless (slightly political) fluff appeared. Saor Alba Gu Bràth!

Claire sat in the vast atrium of the National Museum of Scotland and watched as people passed. Parents tried to keep an eye on their children as they made a mad dash to and from all the different entryways to each exhibit, school groups of sullen pre-teens who resented being herded around like sheep wasting precious moments that they could be glued to their phones. She laughed at a little boy, not older than five, who was making a concerted effort to drag his poor father by the hand into the Natural World section, eagerly bouncing up and whispering excitedly about the t-rex skeleton that was on show.

Growing up with an archaeologist for a care giver was more than she could’ve hoped for - apart from growing up with her own parents, that is. She always considered herself one of the luckiest girls in the world, especially when Lamb got a bit drunk and would wax lyrical about all her peers languishing in classrooms as they bedded down to sleep under the stars in some far off place.

And so, it had given her a love for old things, items that held stories deep within them just waiting for someone to try and coax from them their secrets. She spent a lot of her free time in museums, more than once swallowing a laugh as her nose pressed against the glass of the displays, not aware that she’d been leaning in quite so close. Now, as an adult, it was not only fascinating to learn about ancient civilisations and the people that called them home but it helped her to feel close to her dear Uncle Lamb that she had lost. Sometimes, if she concentrated, she could bring his voice to mind, hear him castigating the curator of whatever museum she was ambling through for choosing the wrong lighting for a particular artefact or for placing a Viking exhibit beside a Celtic one and not making a big enough distinction between the two.

Claire uncrossed her legs from her seated position and drank the last of her coffee before depositing her reusable cup into her handbag. Paper map in hand, she decided to avoid the rabble of children and the cacophony of excitement that filled the air in the hall to her left, making her way in the opposition direction, towards the gallery named ‘Explore’.

“Hello, pretty girl,” she smiled as Dolly the sheep stared back with her bleary eyes from behind a glass case. Weaving in and out of the science exhibits, delighting at children getting a very hands-on approach at learning about topics like genetics and space. She watched as the toothless grin of a baby appeared through the visor of an astronaut’s helmet as the little girl’s father took a picture from the other side with a loud “Say cheese!”. The entire room was crammed with points of interest, a massive replica space shuttle in the corner and a race car simulator that young boys were fighting over, everything surrounded by large, bright infographics that few were bothering to read.

Turning her back on a life size replica steam engine, she watched with a bemused smirk as a rather large - one might say _too large_ for an interactive exhibit that was most likely built with children in mind - as he sat on an orange disc that was acting as a seat and gripped his hands around the rope that was in front of him, running in a loop to a mechanism above his head. As he set his mouth in a straight line, determined to make light work of the task at hand, Claire couldn’t help but notice as the muscles in his arms flexed, the long sleeves of his t-shirt doing a pitiful job at containing their size, and the seat rose slowly, the man’s body ascending with it.

_F = ma_ , her brain thought as she watched the man grin triumphantly at the force he was exerting to move his hulking frame upwards. His blue eyes caught her own whisky coloured orbs and she realised that she was smiling, a little flirtatiously, at him until she watched as his hands lost their grip and sent him crashing to the floor.

Claire had to restrain herself from groaning with frustration at what was now going to be a detour in her plans for a nice quiet Saturday morning. Her brain flickered from physics to medicine as she moved towards him, hands raised preparatorily as she got on the floor beside him to begin her assessment.

“Did you hit your head? Can you tell me your name?” She asked in her best doctor voice, looking into his bright blue eyes which seemed a little hazy for her liking, “My name’s Claire, I’m a doctor.”

“Fraser,” he mumbled, feeling a lightness in his head that he wasn’t entirely sure was from the potential concussion but could be everything to do with the goddess that was sitting in front of him.

She set her hands to work, sure and steady as she methodically searched his scalp for any contusions. She noticed the silky texture of his hair that seemed a perfect match for the beautiful colour, red and glinting in the sunlight that was filling the room. He winced sharply as she felt towards the front of his scalp and could feel it rising to meet her touch as she depressed the lump with her thumbs.

“And do you remember your surname, Fraser?”

“No, lass, I’m James- I mean, Jamie,” he said with a confused look on his face which worried her more. As if he wasn’t in control of his limbs, he absentmindedly raised a hand to the fast growing lump on his head and felt the air leave his lungs when his skin brushed against hers.

She struggled to keep her professional demeanour intact at the sight of his, well, _very adorable_ but very confused face, “Well, is it James, Jamie or Fraser?”

“Jenny Fras- Christ, no, _Jamie_ Fraser,” he sighed, his frustration tinged with pain.

“Okay, Jamie Fraser it is,” she looked at him, watching as he swayed slightly even from the pile of his crumpled body on the floor, “Any other names you want to try on for size or are you too busy trying to pass out on me?”

His bleary eyes sharpened on hers as the corner of his lip quipped up into a smirk, “Aye, a few middle names.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh with frustration and settled on fixing him with a stern look. Worst case scenario, he was genuinely concussed and potentially in need of taking to the hospital. Best case, he was toying with her.

“Do you have any ID on you, Jamie Fraser?” She asked, trying to sound authoritative. When he pointed with a jut of his chin towards his rear left pocket, his fingers struggled to do his bidding with his brain in its muddled state. Claire was thankful that her body was operating on ‘physician’ mode rather than that of ‘girl-who-hasn’t-been-close-to-a-man-this-attractive-in-months’ as she leaned towards him, so close that she could smell his aftershave and feel his heavy breath on the column of her neck. She reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet. With a quirk of her eyebrow and a confirmatory nod from him, it flipped it open in her hand and she produced his driving licence. “Tell you what, you tell me your full name without getting mixed up and I’ll let you go and enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”

She watched as he blinked his eyes tightly, looking slightly more cognisant when they opened again, “James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser. But Jamie will do.”

“Not Jenny?” She tried to hide her smile under a straight mouth but he saw it slip through, delighting in the view.

“Nah, Jenny is my sister,” he confirmed before letting out a heavy sigh, his long fingers going to rub again at the site of his injury, “Just got a bit mixed up, ye ken, it beginning wi’ the same letter and havin’ the same syllables and all.”

“Well, Mr Fraser, you know what syllables are so I think you’re fine. But I suggest you take it slow for the rest of the day. Are you here with anyone?” Claire reluctantly pulled her eyes from his face and looked over her shoulder for the sight of anyone who seemed to be concerned for the man. Other than the small gathering of strangers that were trying to see what all the fuss was about, there was nobody, no one burning with worry for poor Jamie Fraser.

“Jus’ me. Thought I’d come in for a wander, work off my breakfast wi’ some upper body training,” he joked with a cursory glance back at the machine that felled him.

“Well, maybe you should just head home. Ask someone to keep an eye on you,” Claire rose to her feet and held her hand out to the man as his eyebrow raised above one azure globe. He put his hand in hers as her other arm slipped its way under his wide forearm, heaving him upright with more strength than he’d given her credit for. She smirked at him with a look that said _’I know, I’m stronger than I look’_.

Once he was on his feet, it gave Claire an opportunity to realise just how big he was, and wincing at the concept of the sheer force he must’ve fallen with. He stood at least half a foot above her which was rare given her taller than average height. His shoulders rolled back, knowingly giving himself a few more inches as he straightened up, staring down the line of his slightly crooked nose as he considered her closely. When she blushed and looked away, he smiled knowingly and wanted to tell her the answer to her unasked question.

“Naebody at home to keep an eye on me, Doctor, I’m all alone,” he smiled kindly, finally letting go of the hand that he realised he was still holding but instantly remiss at the lack of tactile stimulus, “Mebbe ye’d walk around wi’ me for a bit? To make sure I dinna cowp o’er at the sight of yon snake through in the back hall.”

At the sight of his wolfish grin, Claire’s heart stuttered slightly as she weighed the thought in her mind. He seemed harmless enough and definitely wasn’t bad to look at. And he really _should_ have someone monitoring him for at least a few hours, preferably someone who was trained in recognising the symptoms of a concussion. Really, she would be foregoing her oath if she let him leave on his own now and what kind of doctor would that make her?

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” she pulled her lips in between her teeth and bit down, taking him in as he loomed over her slightly and resisting the urge to lean in to meet him, “I was away to head up to look at the Ancient Egypt exhibit.”

His eyes held her as he stretched out towards her, tucking one foot behind the other in an imitation of a formal bow that would look more at home in 18th century Versailles than Edinburgh in the year 2020 but it was so endearing that she accepted his arm with a small laugh and they began to walk towards the staircase together.

“So ye ken my name, what’s yers?” He asked as they slowly ascended, his long legs skipping a step each time, making light work of the first flight.

“I told you that ten minutes ago, it’s a bad sign if you’ve forgotten already,” she joked but with a tinge of concern in her voice.

“I remember ye said Claire but I was searchin’ for a wee bit more than that,” he laughed as they reached the second floor.

“Beauchamp. I’m Claire Beauchamp.”

“It’s verra nice tae meet ye, Doctor Beauchamp. How fortunate that ye were around to lend a hand when I was acting the fool,” his grip on her arm tightened as they continued up the stairs, her lungs starting to work that little bit harder at the slight increase in cardiovascular activity, the standard amount of which was zero.

“That’s actually the first time I’ve had to do that. You see it in the movies, people hurt themselves and someone yells ‘I’m a doctor!” but it has thankfully never happened in real life.”

“Until today,” he grinned down at her, flashing his brilliant white teeth in a straight line. Her breath came a little harder now and she knew that it was nothing to do with the stairs.

She realised then that she had gone her entire life without experiencing the unique occurance of being honest-to-god _dazzled_ by a smile. But Jamie whateverhisname Fraser had a smile that made the colours in the room glow that little bit brighter.

“Until today,” she conceded as she fixed her eyes on the stairs in front of her, thankful that they were finally at their desired fifth floor.

The Ancient Egypt exhibit was cloaked by dark navy walls, soft lighting showcasing the pieces in all their glory. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, Claire felt immediately cocooned in the warmth of the past, letting Jamie’s arm fall to his side as she moved silently forward, already engrossed by the items on display. He let her go, watched in fascination as he walked a mirror image of the pattern of her steps all the while keeping his eyes fixed on her, consumed with the need to watch her a she navigated her way around. Her lips moved quickly, unable to stop herself from ghosting over the words that she read in her mind, devouring information as she went. When it finally caught her eye, Claire moved quickly to stand in front of the largest items, a coffin standing over six foot tall with a placard simply reading _’Khnumhotep’_. Jamie’s feet brought him to her side.

“Do you know why they painted them gold?”

Jamie turned his head to look at her, let his eyes dance over the lines of her profile as hers continued over the details of the coffin and shook his head.

“The Ancient Egyptians believed that the Gods had golden skin. So when they died, they painted their likenesses with gold skin to ensure that they would live on in the afterlife.”

He knew in that moment that he liked Doctor Claire Beauchamp, her kind touch and honest smile being matched by her quick wit and knowledge of the world. He smiled, more to himself than at her, and looked back at the coffin with new eyes, seeing things that he hadn’t noticed before, as if the small depictions of hieroglyphs had come to life with the reverence she imbued into them.

She turned to him look at him again for the first time since they’d entered the exhibit and Jamie realised that all the whole time she hadn’t been looking at him, he had felt like he had been _starving_ for her attention.

“My Uncle was an archaeologist. He taught me the importance of learning the stories of old things.”

“Ye like history?” He asked, a smile tugging at his lips as she nodded enthusiastically, her lips curling in an honest smile. Jamie felt her smile making him bold and he took her hand in his, leading the both of them back into the blinding light of the atrium and down into the depths of the museum, past a sign that read _’Kingdom of the Scots’_.

Claire craned her neck past all the items that were on display, opening her mouth to protest about not being able to have a closer look as Jamie tugged her ever further into the gallery, his eyes twinkling with the knowledge that he wished to share with her. So she let him drag her to wherever he wanted, realising that she wasn’t quite ready to let go of his hand just yet.

Eventually, they slowed and arrived at a deserted exhibition space, not a soul in sight apart from the two of them. The walls were painted in a cool, dark brown colour that bounced the light on the displays beautifully. Claire felt the quiet buzz of anticipation as Jamie pulled her by the hand towards him, turning her with a light touch to her hip that made her mouth dry as he manoeuvred her in front of the thing he wanted her to see.

It was a written document, yellowed with age and covered in barely legible script. Quickly deducing that it wasn’t in English, she looked at him with a curved eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you can read Latin?”

He tried his best not to puff his chest out proudly but failed miserably, “Aye, I’ve a good ear and had an even better tutor. Taught me Latin and such, even a wee bit of Greek.”

“Colour me impressed.”

“Says the doctor,” he huffed sarcastically.

With a grin, Claire turned back to the document contained behind the glass. The bottom seemed to have been torn or cut into long strips and to the end of each, wax seals hung gently amongst each other.

When Jamie spoke, his breath on the bare skin of the back of her neck registered his presence, sending a shiver down her spine.

“ _ **…for as long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom – for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself**_.”

“What is it?” Claire asked innocently, trying to tamper down the heat that was rising on her skin.

“The Declaration of Arbroath, written in 1320. It was sent to the Pope endorsed by prominent Scottish families in order to encourage him to lift the excommunication of Robert the Bruce and support his position as King of an independent Scotland.”

“Sort of like a birth certificate,” she giggled and looked at him, his blue eyes burning down into hers as he stood closer to her than he had before, smiling gently down at her.

“Aye, exactly. It asserted that Scotland would no longer be a feudal land controlled by the English but an independent nation in its own right. Capable of governing itself wi’ it’s own King and people.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re an IndyRef zealot then?” She joked, earning the upturn of the corner of his mouth as he chuckled with her, turning back to the document before them, his eyes blazing earnestly.

“I believe that Scotland should have the right to choose her own fate, aye. Make our own choices, made by our own people in our own land,” he nodded. It was clear from his voice that this was something that meant a lot to him, that his words weren’t some drunken sentiments being thrown around after one too many whiskies, screaming _’Freedom!’_ at the top of his lungs. He truly believed in the cause and all of a sudden, Claire could picture him in full Highland regalia, wielding a claymore in a deadly arc above his head as he lead a Highland charge over the battlefield at Bannockburn or Culloden moor.

“Scotland for the Scottish?” She asked, trying to keep her voice light and full of humour but unable to assuage the nagging hint of worry at what his response might be.

“Something like that,” he smirked, enjoying the subtle tease as he watched the uncertainty flicker over her face, “But I put it tae ye, what is it tae be Scottish? How long have ye been here, Claire?”

“In Scotland? I moved here when I came up for university just a little shy of eight years ago.”

He pried just a little further, “And why did ye no’ return to England when ye graduated?”

She started at his question, not taking offence but because nobody had ever asked her that before. In truth, she hadn’t even considered moving back to England when she had finished university. With a smile, she realised that Scotland had made its way under her skin and rooted her here without having ever noticed it.

“I’ve made my life here,” she shrugged, “It’s my home.”

He sent her the gift of a wide smile and she felt her knees weaken.

“Aye, it’s yer home. Just as it is mine, from the day that I took my first breath. I may have been born here, and I ken I look the part and hae the accent but ye are as Scottish as I am. As is anybody who comes here and the sight of the Highlands lays a claim tae their heart. As is any person of any nationality who has found themselves here, intentionally or no’, feeling what it is tae have their feet planted firmly on Scottish soil.”

Claire was getting lost in his eyes, in the pride that was filling all of the spaces between the words that were pouring from his heart.

“I know how that feels,” she agreed, turning her head back to the document and finding herself caught up in the promise of a future, just as the men who had fixed their seals had felt. She loved Scotland, the country that had made itself her home, had wrapped its way around her heart just as Jamie was wrapping his fingers with her own.

“Disnae matter who ye are or where yer from, if ye believe it to be yer home, Scotland will always welcome ye as such.”


End file.
